Page 46 of Twisted Little Thing

He pulls up his pants, puts his arm around me and leads me back into the room. Still, I am the only one who is completely naked; he has not removed a single piece of clothing.

"Didn't you say you don't have much time today?" I ask when we are inside the bathroom and he starts running the water in the tub. "How come we are still here?"

He looks at me with a secretive smile. "Plans can be changed."

"I hope I don't cause you any trouble?"

"Silly girl," he says, pulling his pullover over his head. "You speak as if that was for you to decide."

We wait for the giant bathtub to fill up with hot water and fragrant foam before climbing in and cuddling up inside it. I am lying in his arms, enjoying the instant relaxation of my sore muscles and the prickling of my tortured skin.

"Your time must be limited, though," I argue. "Mr. big-time-investor-billionaire."

"Turning sassy again, are we?" he whispers behind me, gently cupping my boobs beneath the surface of the water and mountains of foam.

"I have weekends, too," he explains. "And the appointment I had today was not of any importance for me. It was easy to cancel."

"How come you like working so much?" I ask.

He squeezes my boobs and pulls me in closer before taking my nipples between two of his fingers. He pinches them just enough to send a sweet wave of delicate pain lancing through my chest. Damn, it feels good. I moan and lean into him – but I will not give in this time!

"Are you trying to silence me with sex again?" I breathe.

He laughs. "Did I silence you before?"

"Yes!" I insist. "We were having a conversation, and then you –"

"Don't blame me if you can't keep your legs together, beautiful," he interrupts. "We can talk now, I'm not doing anything to silence you, I promise. I just like touching you. A lot."

"O-okay," I utter as he continues to massage my breasts. That seductive bastard.

"You wanted to know why I like working so much," he says.

"Yes."

"What makes you think I do?"

"Well," I say. "I mean, you must have worked your ass off at some point in the past to be where you are. I read the article, you know. Coming from nothing, self-made billionaire and all that... that doesn't happen without giving up your life and –"

"Giving up my life?" he asks. "What exactly do you think I gave up?"

"Well," I try to explain. "There cannot have been much time for you to do anything fun, anything creative. To breathe – to live."

"I didn't stop living or breathing," he says. "I had an idea – and I followed up on that idea. It was a really creative process, actually. I created something. It was tough and you may say I worked hard, because there was a time where I didn't do much else. But it did not feel like work. And it certainly didn't feel like I stopped living. On the contrary."

"But you didn't do much else," I object. "Just work, work, work – and for what? Why do you need so much money?"

"Why do you naturally assume that I did it for the money?" he asks. "I had an idea, a passion, and I wanted my project to succeed. It was like a child to me. And it made me happy to see it grow and succeed and get other people involved. Like I said, it was a creative process."

He lets go of my breasts and scoops some water with both of hands by lifting them up like a shovel. I realize too late what he is up to and let out an unhappy groan when he lets the water rain down on my face.

"You say I have no time to breathe, to live, to create?" he says. "What have you created lately? What are you doing with your life, young lady?"

I shake my head to get rid of the few drops of water that are still dripping from my forehead and blurring my view.

"Well, I did not start a business," I say. "But there are plenty of things I have time for. And I'm free. I could go anywhere, anytime, because I'm not stuck at an office five days a week –"

"What do you do for a living?" he interrupts.

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